


Christmas In Dublin

by sgtcyanide221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtcyanide221b/pseuds/sgtcyanide221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying to Sebastian about a meeting for the company, Jim takes a flight back to Dublin to have a small meeting with some rather important people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas In Dublin

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this as a quick drabble on Tumblr, it will probably get re-written, or added to at some point.
> 
> Muc, meaning pig -- Jim's best insult for his father. He doesn't want to shower him with expletives, because that's not the point.

It’s cold. Both in the heart of the Consulting Criminal, and in the air of the Dublin church yard in which he found himself. Sebastian was working some small-scale job back in London, while Jim had made his excuses about a meeting up in Scotland. He had hopped on a flight and made the much needed journey. 

Now, he was confronted with two names he saw each and every time that he closed his eyes at night, the names embedded in his memory, forever and a day. The names of his parents, black against the white marble of their headstones. 

He came each year, for some reason or another, to bid them well. To offload his pent up guilt that they were no longer around to see what he had become. A small part of him, nonetheless a part of him, felt a burning guilt. It had been his hand which had ignited that first flame, on that fateful day. Twenty-Six years had passed, and Jim still thought about it. Not a moment went by when he didn’t, in some-way-shape-or-form. 

Furious at himself; Jim blinked away the tears that were burning in his eyes and knelt down low, crouching between the two stones, head bowed, in some form of remembrance. His hand caressed the stone of his father’s grave, aiming a swift punch there, immediately, he buckled and clutched his bleeding hand to his chest. 

”Muc!” He spat. The anger was fleeting, and without true cause. Jim turned his back on his mother’s grave, not so much as passing glance on the whore who had ruined his childhood. 

Dismissively, he threw the flowers down onto his father’s grave, turned on his heel and walked away. 

Next year: he would not come alone. He couldn’t. 

With a sigh, that was lost to the wind, Jim padded his way along the snowy roads, to the waiting car. He missed his true home. 

[SMS - Seb] Meeting went well. Expect me home in a few hours, love. ~JMx


End file.
